Soulmate
by MoonlitRendezvous
Summary: *based on the 2013 movie* Newly widowed and suffering from depression, Jane escapes the worried, watchful glaze of everyone she cares for and opts to spend time in a rural cottage to help heal herself after her loss. Odd noises are keeping her up at night, however, and Jane fears she may not be alone. Is someone breaking in at night, or is there another explanation?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fiction is based on the 2013 film of the same name. (It starred Anna Walton and Tom Wisdom.) I really hope you enjoy this story, and if you haven't seen the movie and would like to, it's currently free streaming on Hulu. (That is if you're into gothic romances and you don't mind commercial breaks.)

* * *

Soulmate

The funeral had been awful, the pain worse even than the soul crushing devastation she'd imagined. There had been a rather large crowd at the church but then, as her friend and manager, Darcy Lewis, liked to point out, her music was starting to get noticed.

"It's only natural for them to gawk a bit," the black haired woman had tried to soothe her, "you're a celebrity now."

Jane never much cared for celebrities, or social standings for that matter; neither had Thor. At the mere thought of his name, her heart squeezed within her chest as if it were actually rebelling against the thought of beating without her husband, her best friend, her everything, beside her. Erik, her quasi-father figure and former friend of her long deceased parents, gripped her hand in concern as they watched _his_ casket being lowered into the ground. She offered him a forced smile in return, glad he'd brought her back into the present and away from the horrid memories of her last moments with her husband. She knew she couldn't live inside her head, inside her misery forever. Still, Jane Odinson –

'No, Foster,' she thought to herself, unwilling to hold on to an empty promise – even in name alone – of a family that no longer existed. Of course Frigga was worried about her, but Odin hadn't been able to look at her since the accident, let alone speak to her. Frigga had attempted to comfort Jane, saying they'd all lost _him_. And though she didn't understand the pain, a parent losing a child must have been horrible for them, in the end Frigga and Odin still had each other, and what did Jane have?

"Nothing," she gasped out, forcing the tears not to fall as she finished perfecting her make up. She took her time, slipping on her little black dress Thor loved, making certain to wear the jewelry he'd gotten for her, wearing her hair loose just the way he liked it. When she was done, convinced she looked as good as she could under the current circumstances, she put the plug in the bath drain and turned on the taps so that the water would be nice and warm, and then she went and locked the bathroom door.

Deciding had always been hard for Jane. Being an orphan, emotions had always been hard for her to deal with, but it was actually making a decision that frightened her most. Once she'd made up her mind about something, she had tremendous follow through, no matter how painful. As she turned off the taps and settled herself fully clothed into the tub, she was counting very much on what Thor referred to as her "bull-headed-ness".

"I can't live without you," she whispered, picking up her husband's old-fashioned shaving razor in one hand and cut along her wrist as deeply as she could, biting on her lip to keep from alerting Darcy, who was staying the night with her. Blood trickled down in thick rivets of dark maroon lines as she sought to catch her breath before doing the same to the other wrist, though with considerably more difficulty given the state of her other arm. Satisfied with the results, and partly for the growing dizziness in her head, Jane dropped the blade into the water and soon found her face slipping under as well. She could hear a muffled sound, was it Darcy? She no longer cared, not when she was so close to being reunited with her husband – her everything. Just as darkness was closing around her, just when she'd almost reached her goal, she felt it. Her body was being lifted from the water; air was being forced into her lungs, hands on her chest making her heartbeat.

'No,' she cried out in her mind, unable to operate her mouth. 'No, not when I'm so close to him! Thor…Thor!'

Her heart broke further; her soul crushed beyond recognition, Jane Foster – Odinson was rushed to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

Six months later…

It was still hard for her to be in a vehicle, understandably since the last time she'd driven had ended with the death of her husband. Yet, she was thoroughly convinced that being alone in the unknown countryside was vastly better than being surrounded by people with sympathizing looks that were probably thinking she was losing her mind. For nearly half a year she'd been in a psychiatric hospital with nurses and doctors monitoring her every move, with the occasional visit from Frigga or Darcy or Erik or (shockingly enough) even Odin. (Though the last merely stared at her with his stony eyes as his wife attempted to pretend everything was normal.) Then a few days ago, after she'd felt she'd suffered enough bruising to whatever was left of her dignity, Jane Foster –Odinson checked herself out against her doctor's wishes, and found a travel agency to book lodgings for an indefinite amount of time in the most rural, desolate place they could find.

"I'm in need of rest," she told the agent, "somewhere quiet where no one would think to look."

The next day the agency had called back, she'd packed, stopped by to pay the deposit and headed off towards the middle of nowhere. She'd had to stop a few times to fill up her cars tank, being overly cautious for fear she'd be stranded on the deserted country roadways. Then, after a day and a half's drive, she'd finally arrived at the cabin. It was quite big for just herself, at least from the outside, and she hurried on inside to investigate. (Did most homes here leave their doors unlocked?) A small smile pulled at her lips, she'd always been curious. Perhaps she was reclaiming a piece of herself already?

The heels of her boots clicked softly across the stone flooring as she slowly moved from one room to another, even up the wooden stairs and back down. The decor left much to be desired, what with stuffed birds scattered here and there like statures and random pelts affixed to the walls. It was obvious who ever had designed the place was attempting a homey-woodsy feel, and had failed terribly. Jane actually cringed when she saw a fox pelt on the living room wall, her brown eyes moving quickly towards a stuffed animal in the corner.

"Poor owl," she mumbled, turning to head downstairs and bring her bags in before the rain hit. Not that it was supposed to rain, but it was awfully cloudy, and she wasn't exactly the luckiest person around – at least not recently. Besides, though she found it ridiculous, Jane felt as though she were being watched by someone.

'Just nerves,' she mentally assured herself as she rushed out towards her car, only to freeze with fright upon exiting the house. One hand went to Jane's chest as she nervously laughed and apologized to the woman standing in the driveway. "So sorry, I didn't see you there."

The woman, though a little older than Jane, was still attractive, with golden hair and warm, brown eyes. "Not a problem, it's my fault really," she said with a smile. "Oh, forgive my manners, I'm Sif Vanir –"

"Vanir? The caretaker?"

"The very same," she replied, shaking Jane's hand cordially. "I just wanted to welcome you to Laufeyson Cottage and give you the front door key. I was going to leave it under the mat, but here you are."

"Here I am," Jane repeated as politely as she could. "I actually just arrived," she said, desperate to fill in the silence around this woman with something, as she made Jane decidedly uncomfortable, "and was coming out for my luggage."

"Let me help you," the elder offered.

"That's really very nice of you, but I've got it," Jane said, when actually thinking the woman was being nosy.

"I insist."

Okay, make that pushy and nosy.

"And I really can't let you," was her firm reply. Sif's jaw clenched, highlighting the few wrinkles that had begun to appear upon her otherwise youthful face, her eyes watching Jane's movements closely.

"Oh," she gasped out as Jane pulled her two instrument cases from the truck, "are you a musician?"

"Some think so," Jane answered evasively.

"Do you plan on playing all alone out here?"

Jane paused, half way to the front door, and turned to look at the woman. "Well, of course you do," she muttered to herself, as if suddenly realizing how odd her question was. Jane shook her head and continued on, placing her cases just inside the door, then turning back to get her suitcases. "There's a piano at the church," Sif spoke up again. "The women folk play cards there Friday nights if you want some company or… accompaniment."

"That's very kind of you," Jane said, trying to remain polite, "but I really just came here to be alone."

"Oh? Oh, well this is certainly the place for that," the blond answered. "Doesn't even have a phone line, so I hope you brought your own. Though you probably won't get a tower signal this far outside of town," she mumbled the last part seemingly to herself.

"It's alright," Jane reassured. "I really won't be needing one."

"Well, if you do, there's still a pay phone in town. Near the post office."

"Yes, thanks" Jane forced a smile as she dropped her suitcases just inside the cabin and then turned to stand in front of the door. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Vanir –"

"Sif," the woman insisted.

"Sif," Jane repeated, her smile slipping a bit. "I would invite you in, but as I said I just arrived."

The caretaker's owlish eyes looked at her blankly, her body stiff in posture.

"I was hoping to unpack," Jane explained, then inwardly frowned at her lack of reaction. "I am very tired after my drive, perhaps another time?"

Sif blinked a few times. "What? Oh, oh, of course! How rude of me! Of course you're tired. Well, take care dear. If you should need anything, my house is the first on the left on your way into town. You can't miss it!"

"Great," Jane said before shutting the door and looking down at her luggage. The two bedrooms were down a hallway, away from any other rooms – except a bathroom located in between them – in the cottage, and were (thankfully) on the first floor. Pulling her elbow-length chestnut hair into a messy bun, Jane set about moving her luggage and unpacking them into either the dresser or the wardrobe. Next, she moved her instruments, one an acoustic guitar and the other a violin, to the second floor, where the living room, kitchen, and a small half bathroom were found, and set them down by the barstools (located on the living room side of the kitchen counter). Releasing a deep sigh, Jane looked around the quaint little area. The living room was on one side, kitchen on the other, with space for a small hall leading to a half bathroom separating the kitchen table from the actually kitchen. Jane forced herself to take in a slow steady breath as she began to feel a bit Closter phobic. Grabbing her jacket, she headed outside for a long walk in the brisk, early spring air.

* * *

It was well after dark by the time Jane had stumbled back to the cottage. She was thankfully thoroughly exhausted and, after a quick shower, fell into a blissful sleep. At least for a little while on any account. Around one in the morning, Jane shot straight up in the bed, her eyes wide as she caught the sound of… Was that tapping or maybe mice? Getting up slowly, she strained her ears for the faintest noise as she walked down the hallway and up the wooden stairs, following the sound. Finding a flashlight on an old table next to the landing, Jane switched it on and looked about the kitchen and living room before heading up another small stairway – only three or so steps – to a door. A door that seemed to be locked, though Jane did try to force it open before sighing and heading back downstairs.

The next day, Jane walked into town, to the Vanir's house to be more specific. Knocking on the door, she was surprised when a slender man with fair hair and sky blue eyes answered the door instead of Sif. "Hi," she said with a forced smile as he glared at her curiously, "I was looking for Sif. I'm Jane Foster," she continued as he just stared, "I'm staying at Laufeyson Cottage."

"Of course," his face warmed a bit, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, "come in. Laufeyson Cottage, hm? Did Sif give you that name?"

"Yes," she said as she followed him into the living room, both of them remained standing as they looked at one another. "I saw her yesterday shortly after I'd arrived, she was the first to welcome me here."

"Was she now? Well, then, allow me to be the second," he smiled in a way that Jane was certain had been charming when he was younger. "I'm Fandral Vanir, general physician in these parts."

"Pleased to meet you, officially," Jane grinned as she shook his hand, her eyes flicking towards a movement over his shoulder. "Hello, Sif. I wanted to apologize if I was… abrupt yesterday. I must have been terribly rude and I'm sorry."

Sif laughed, her brown eyes flicking towards her husband in a way Jane found deeply unsettling. "Aren't you adorable? I just caught you at a bad time is all."

"Yes, well, I also wanted to ask you something about the cottage."

"The cottage?"

Jane frown softly, notice how uncomfortable the woman seemed to be getting, wringing her hands as she glanced from Jane to her husband. "I heard noises last night-"

"It is an old house," Fandral pointed out.

"Not those kinds of noises," she stated. "It seemed to be coming from the room off the little stairway. The door was locked."

"It's just an old storage room," Sif said with a forced shrug. "It's been locked up for around thirty years now. We don't give that key out."

"Besides, it was probably just mice or bats," her husband said calmly.

"Mice," Jane repeated.

"Or a raccoon."

"He's joking," the blond said, her eyes narrowing into slights. "There are no unwanted pests on the premises, I promise. I'm sorry I can't help you this time."

"Yes, well, thank you anyway," she nodded to the couple as she saw herself out. Jane headed back to the cottage, slightly confused and a little bit worried about Sif Vanir.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

Two days had gone by, and Jane had grown accustom to ignoring the tapping/ scurrying noises late at night, though she did lock the bedroom door and slept with a pair of scissors under her pillow. It was either that or a small ax she'd found next to a bundle of chopped wood, and she doubted that would be very comfortable to lay on – pillow or no.

She was slightly disappointed in her little refuge thus far – not that it wasn't exactly what she'd asked for. Jane had hoped being away from familiar places would make it easier for her to move passed Thor's absence. Back home, anywhere she went was filled with memory after memory of their time together, and she'd desperately thought if she created some memories of her own alone, maybe she'd become strong enough to let go. Only Thor didn't seem to want to let go of her. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, Jane couldn't seem to forget her grief or keep from reminiscing how Thor would do certain things or what he would have thought about something and even, on a few rare instances, seeing a hazy figure matching his tall frame out the corner of her eye. She'd come to Laufeyson Cottage to find peace from her pain and to hopefully finish a composition she'd been working on since the night of the accident, but so far she'd found herself staring at old photographs and weeping inconsolably more than anything else. She had managed to pushed out a few bars of music from within her head, but then the pain would always come, her heart feeling as if it were being broken anew, and she'd have to stop – normally fleeing the cottage altogether for a rather lengthy walk about the countryside.

Returning from one such excursion, about a week into her stay, Jane had been stumbling her way back to the cottage through a rather thick fog when she caught a light in the distance. As she came closer to the house, she noticed the light was coming from a second floor window. Naturally Jane was puzzled, not remaindering turning any light on at all. Curiosity soon turned to fear as the light turned off before her eyes. Jane's feet stilled as she looked up at the cottage, her heart pounding until she was overcome with some foolishness and charged into the house.

She searched the ground floor first and then, having found it empty, she rushed upstairs. "Where are you," she yelled out as she glanced about the living room and kitchen area before looking inside the small bathroom. Her eyes turned towards the old room left – the locked storage room. Her steps were firm though her heart was frantic. "I know you're in there," she called out, testing the knob. At finding it still locked, Jane pounded once, hard, on the door. "I saw you," she cried out angrily, her words stilling her at how crazy they sounded. "I saw you," she whispered again, moving sluggishly until she found her way back to the living room where she sat down stiffly on the sofa and cried.

'Maybe their right,' she thought. 'Maybe I am losing my mind.'

It was later that night that Jane was roused again from her sleep by a loud noise. She sat there in bed, ears straining for any further sound as she contemplated leaving it until morning. She was just about to lay back down when she hear something breaking upstairs. Biting her lip, she slowly moved from her bed, pausing at her door to listen again. A squeaking caught her attention, and she knew she'd never be able to sleep until it stopped. With a flashlight and a pair of scissors in hand, Jane straightened her spine and gathered her courage, and quietly made her way down the hall and up the wooden staircase. Out of instinct, she shined her flashlight towards the storage room first and was slightly relieved when the light beam showed it was still firmly shut. Next she looked into the kitchen and then living room areas, but it was at the secluded kitchen table that she found the problem.

"Great," she muttered with sigh. Somehow the wind had managed to push of the windows in, opening it, and had then blown the flower vase off the table. Jane looked at the smashed vase on the floor, the scattered wild flowers on the table, and then to the open window and the drizzling rain coming through it. "A right mess all around," she said tiredly, setting the flashlight and scissors on the table and stepping carefully over the broken glass to shut the window, and then stepping over it again. Jane moved towards the kitchen, opening the bottom drawers and cabinets until she found a handheld dust pan and broom, a rubbish bin, and a small hand towel. She moved towards the table, quickly setting the place back to rights, and then – flashlight and scissors in hand – returned to bed.

A few days passed, and Jane didn't notice anything odd at all. But then, she hadn't notice a hazy man's frame watching her clean up the vase that night any more than she'd noticed the presence that watched her sleep every night since. On the forth night, however, Jane had just finished reading a few chapters of a book when she heard the district sound of a man whistling. The sound moved from upstairs to outside the bedroom door at various intervals throughout the night, and left her so frighten, Jane couldn't do much more than lay in bed gripping her scissor tightly until morning. She took a few hours to attempt to rationalize what she'd heard, but in the end, decided to go to the Vanir's just in case someone had broken into the cottage the previous night.

She knocked on the door and waited around for about five minutes before giving up. With a sigh, Jane walked around town a bit, deciding to check back again later. A few minutes into walking about the town, Jane came across the payphone and bit her lip in thought. She knew she should call Darcy or Erik, knew they'd be worried by now, but she wasn't really looking forward to being scolded like a child…

"You're a big girl, Jane," she muttered to herself as she crossed the empty road and entered the payphone box, pulled a few coins from her jean pocket and dialed the first number the thought of.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Darce," she replied, swallowing down the tears as emotion over took her.

"Jane! Jane, where the hell are you," her friend practically screeched. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How worried we've all been? Frigga hasn't stopped crying, and Erik won't even go into work because he's afraid he'll miss your call!"

"I know, it was reckless and stupid –"

"Damn straight it was!"

"But I just couldn't stay there any longer, Darcy. Not with Frigga and the memory of Thor hanging about. I felt…" Jane took in a deep breath and let it go. "I felt haunted, like I was literally suffocating on my pain. I had to go, and I knew none of you would let me, so I just… I just went."

"You need help, Jane," Darcy snapped out, though Jane knew it was from fear and not anger. "You tried to kill yourself a few months ago. You need to come home."

"I can't," she said firmly. "Not yet. Not until I've finished my composition, I promised myself, Darcy."

Silence filled the line until Jane grew worried they'd been disconnected. "There is someone there though, in case you need help?"

"Yeah," Jane answered, her eyes catching sight of Fandral Vanir walking home. "I've even been writing a bit. Who knows," she teased, hoping to convince her friend that all was well, "I might even have enough for an entire album aside from my composition by the time I get back. I'll…um…I'll call you in a few weeks then, would that make you feel better?"

"Call Erik instead, and we'll call it even."

"You've got a deal," Jane smiled a tiny, real smile as she felt herself relax a bit. "Tell him to get off his duff, and I'll talk to him next Sunday around noon."

The exchanged their goodbyes, and then Jane walked back towards the Vanir's house.

"Jane," Fandral asked when he opened the door.

"Hi, I hate to be a bother," she started. "I heard some more noises last night, and I really didn't want to call the police."

"The police?"

He looked shocked and worried, though not overly concerned. "Yes," Jane pressed onward anyway. "You see, the sound I heard was someone whistling in the cottage last night. I didn't know what to do, really."

"My God, that must have been terrifying for you." One of his hands settled on her shoulder in a reassuring motion that rather unnerved her.

"It was," she agreed. "So I was hoping you or Sif might look through the cottage with me. Make sure it's safe?"

He smiled warmly, his blue eyes looking her over quickly. "Let me grab my jacket and I'll be right out to walk you over."

Fandral humored her by looking behind closed doors and curtains – anywhere a person could hide – though there was something offensively mocking in the way he did so. Then finally they made it to the storage room, and he smiled cheekily towards her and fished a key out of his pocket. "If you don't tell Siff, I won't either," he grinned.

Jane returned the gesture, her curiosity overriding her discomfort where the man was concerned. Once unlocked, they both entered the room cautiously, though there really was no need.

"See, nothing but old junk that should have been burned ages ago," he said, looking about the dust covered room and frowning at a few cobwebs.

"Perhaps I should unplug the lamps," she asked, spying a few in a corner. "So they don't burn the place down should their wiring gets any shorts, what with the mice."

Fandral chuckled, his light eyes sparkling as he took her in. "You're a clever one, aren't you? Beautiful too."

"I…" Jane backed up, edging out of the room as her discomfort return. She cleared her throat and ignored her heated cheeks. "Thank you for coming all the way out here, Mr. Vanir. I really appreciate it, however, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with your wife. Sif must be worried by now."

"Especially if she'd noticed the store room keys gone," he grimaced, but nodded his head all the same. "I suppose you're right. Well if there's nothing else?"

Jane shook her head 'no' and motioned for him to follow her down stairs, where she thanked him again. "Don't hesitate to come around should you need anything," he said with a smile before she closed the front door – and locked it for good measure. She frowned a bit to herself. When she'd been in the storage room, she'd remembered something had said to her once… She just couldn't quiet remember what it was.

Slowly she went into the small study room to the left of the front door where she kept her various journals – one for random thoughts, one for poems (which usually became lyrics), and one of various music cords that would enter her mind. Jane took her poem journal and re-read the last few entries before grabbing up a pen and adding a few lines, and reading the entries again. She grinned, taking the book upstairs, setting it down on the coffee table and getting her acoustic guitar out. Jane played around with the melody in her head, adding the words mentally as she hummed allowed. She smiled happily as she actually sang the last few lines, the lines she'd just written.

"Who knows," she laughed, "I might actually write that new album like I promised." Jane knew an outsider would probably think she was insane, but she was elated that she'd actually written an entire song – her first one since Thor…

And there went her good mood. Jane closed her eyes as her depression returned. She placed her guitar on the sofa and closed her eyes and sorted her thoughts, her feelings… And then Jane picked up her journal and wrote some more. She wrote and she wrote, until she couldn't see through her tears. It was while she was crying that she heard a rattling noise coming from the storage room. On shaking legs she stood and called out as bravely as she could.

"Enough of this," she hissed out. "Show yourself!"

Jane felt ridiculous standing there in the silence, talking to…what, exactly? She sighed to herself and turned to go back to the sofa, only to freeze at the hazy masculine figure that was sitting in the chair across from the sofa, staring at her. "No," she whispered, "no, go away."

Jane closed her eyes and when next she opened them, she was alone again. She lay awake that night wondering was her imagination running wild on her, or had she actually seen someone? "Thor," she whimpered as she rolled on her side in bed. "Thor…"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

Jane's mind was tired the next morning, even her eyes seemed to hurt from just being open. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Hell, the whole situation was ridiculous! She could already hear what Darcy would say. _Thor's dead, Jane. There's no way you saw him last night. I'm worried about you, come home._

Home. As if there was such a place anymore. Sure, Jane still had their house, which she'd have to return to eventually – just not yet. She might be seeing figures at night, but she wasn't so delusional as to think she was strong enough to return to the center of all of their hopes and dreams and retain her sanity. She could always sell it. Of course she'd still have to sort through their things.

Jane braced herself against the first floor bathroom sink, glad her recent shower's steam was fogging up the mirror's glass to obscure her reflection. "Deep breaths, Jane," she said to herself. "Deep breaths."

Once she was certain she was steady enough, she quickly dressed, and then brushed her teeth and hair. Hairbrush still in hand, she paused as she looked at her warped reflect in the fog covered mirror. Could last night have been some form of hallucination brought on by her emotional distress? Jane bit her bottom lip, uncertain if she should inform someone of this new development. Her psychiatric doctor had been very firm about seeking help should her depression deepen, and seeing an apparition of her dead husband would certainly qualify. After a small internal debate, Jane decided to wait for the day. Any further problem and she'd ask Fandral Vanir his professional opinion as a doctor.

Jane did her best to go about her day as normal as possible. She, however, found herself so puzzled over what had happened the night before, she was unable to focus on anything else for any real length of time. Around noon, Jane decided to walk into town and call Erik a day early. It was a Saturday after all, and the man would usually be cleaning, and he in fact was very glad to hear from her. Jane told him she was staying at Laufeyson Cottage, and to her great surprise he knew exactly where it was.

"I'm an astrophysicist, Jane," he teased her mildly. "I'm good at knowing obscure towns in the middle of nowhere. They are the best places to study stars, are they not? Truth be told I knew Loki Laufeyson quite well."

"Knew him? Why what happened to him?"

Erik paused on the phone for a few minutes before sighing deeply. "He committed suicide about thirty years ago. Look, please don't go asking the townsfolk about it. It was a big to-do when it happened, and you don't need to make any enemies there."

Erik made her promise not to go "meddling", and she smiled, recalling when he'd refer to her as "Velma" as a teenager when she'd go nosing about. Her smile slipping a bit as she realized even then she was valued more for her brain that her beauty. (Of course she would have been thoroughly insulted had he called her "Danger-prone Daphne" instead.)

"Listen, Janie," the pleading concern in his voice caught her attention, "I'll be passing by the cottage sometime in the next week or so on my way to a seminar. Would it be alright if I stopped by."

"You can stay the night if you'd like," automatically came out of her mouth, and she silently cursed herself. She knew he'd accept, clearly everyone was worried about her. Shouldn't it alarm her that she wasn't worried about herself? "Maybe you could take some things back to Darcy for me?"

_There, prove to them that you've been busy, Jane. You've been working, and you're fine._

"I'm sure she'd be delighted if I did," he chuckled. "The press has been having a field day since your disappearance six months ago!"

"I thought that had died down," she questioned, her brows lowering in confusion.

"It had, but somehow someone let it leak that you'd been in hospital – though not what section of it, thank God – and now they're running around trying to sniff out a story. And, Jane," he sighed out hesitantly. "There is one more thing I should tell you…"

Jane closed her eyes against an oncoming headache and leaned against the phone booth's glass wall. "What is it, Erik?"

"Victoria has come forward."

Jane felt her knees buckle, and braised herself more against the booth. "What?"

"Darcy's been on damage control and it helps a lot that she only spoke to one magazine – trash, really – and that she demanded a large payment."

"I'm sure she did," Jane muttered darkly to herself.

"The point is, Darcy has asked me to make sure you don't call her cell or work numbers in case they've been compromised –"

"You mean bugged? This is ridiculous!"

"I know, Janie. Darcy also wants you to stay where you are. She said you're safe there, as not even the Odinson name has gotten any results."

"What do you mean," she questioned, internally wondering if she really wanted to know.

"Frigga has been hunting for you, but even with her name and money the paper trail ends at the travel agency, and they claim you have them legally bound not to disclose your location."

Erik sounded proud and Jane couldn't help but feel a little bit better. "Are you really surprised? You raised me after all." They chattered casual for a few minutes more before saying their goodbyes, and then Jane did a bit of light grocery shopping and walked back to the cottage.

Once home, she decided to cook something time consuming for dinner and let her mind wonder freely. Of course, she was in no mood to actually eat once the dish was ready, and ended up putting it away in the refrigerator. Next she showered, attempting to force herself to relax but all she could hear in her mind was Erik repeatedly telling her that Victoria had come forward.

"That bitch," she whispered, her eyes watering with tears as she submerged her face under the showerhead's spray. A vast array of emotions flooded her – shame, embarrassment, angry, hatred, and then guilt – and then came the depression. Jane both recognized and accepted that her marriage to Thor wasn't perfect, he'd made a mistake – a rather large one – but they'd agreed to work it out. Jane's hand fell to her stomach for a second as she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She could handle this. Hell, it seemed like she had to handle this, whether she was able to or not.

_And speaking of things I'm not sure if I'm ready to handle…_

Jane dressed for bed, then – scissors in hand – headed upstairs. If she were hallucinating last night, well, a good yell at Thor sounded very therapeutic at the moment, and if she weren't… If she'd actually seen a ghost? An apparition? Was it better to know the truth or be blissfully ignorant? Jane squared her shoulders and headed upstairs to the living room. Clicking on a small table lamp, she settled herself on the sofa and just watched the corner chair with scissors still firmly in hand. Time passed slowly, and after several hours, Jane found herself tiring. She yawned and stretched, and when next she looked she wasn't alone in the room any longer.

His frame was tall, yet lanky. His complexion pale (_he is dead, Jane_), and literally transparent. His shoulder length ebony hair was styled neatly and brushed away from his face, which held the most hypnotic blue-green eyes she'd ever seen. "Differently not Thor," she mumbled to herself and saw his lips twitch in amusement.

"So," his velvety voice filled her ears for the first time, "you can see me." He looked at her, just stared in a way that made Jane think he was the loneliest person she'd ever met. "You can drop those now," he said, pointing to the scissors. "Not like you could hurt me with them anyway."

And to prove his point, the man moved one pale arm straight through a nearby end table lamp. Jane's eyes widened in amazement, a breath escaping her lips. "Why are you here," she finally asked.

"It's my home."

"But I live here now," she corrected him. He smirked, his eyes raking over her quickly as he admitted he'd been watching her. "Are you going to hurt me?"

He scoffed at this. "Forgive me, it's been awhile since I've spoken with anyone. For so long now I've been able to move about as I pleased so silently that no one noticed. Now… I can moved things, be heard and seen." Blue-green eyes narrowed as he studied her curiously. "What's so special about you?"

"Nothing," was her instant response, and she said it with such conviction that his eyes widened momentarily. His gaze then wondered down to her hand, where she still held the scissors – though rather loosely.

"Forgive me if I startled you."

Jane forced a weak laugh. "Startled… terrified is more like it. Did you know I had the caretaker's husband searched the place after that whistling stunt of yours?"

"I wanted to know if you could really hear me," he defended calmly, as if her spending a night paralyzed by fear in her bed was nothing to be concerned about.

"Clearly I did," she returned darkly, her gaze hardening a bit.

"Clearly," he repeated smiling mischievously at her, until Jane found herself releasing a giggle. "I am sorry though," he clarified. "Technically, you're a guest in my home and I should have been more courteous. Perhaps we could try to become more comfortable around each other? Maybe even ease your need to walk about the place with shears in hand?"

Jane's check heated with embarrassment, as she finally leaned forward to set the scissors on the coffee table. "More comfortable, hm? Alright then, I'm Jane Foster."

"Loki Laufeyson," he replied with a curt nod of his head. They grinned briefly to each other, both trying to think of something else to say that wouldn't be considered too invasive or rude. The silence stretched on, and when Loki finally had thought of something to say – though it wouldn't immediately answer any of the questions he'd formed during his observation of her – he found the poor girl fast asleep. Again, as he'd become quite found of doing, he watch her as she rested and found something achingly beautiful about the oddity that was Jane Foster.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

It had been nearly two weeks since they'd first introduced themselves, and Jane was getting quite comfortable around her new guest – outside of a few jump scares that ended with one broken mug or another. They'd formed a bit of a routine, Loki appearing shortly after night and staying until Jane retired for bed. There were times when Jane could swear she felt his gaze upon her even as she laid there in bed (_it's just nerves, Jane_). What really bothered her about Loki was, despite how much she told him about herself, she knew virtually nothing about him. It's not that she hadn't asked him, he just refused to talk about almost anything having to do with himself. Sure, Jane knew he loved many forms of the arts, could quote Byron and Browning at the drop of a hat, and seemed extremely interested in her music (which was perhaps the only part of herself she hid from him… well, almost). But what did she really know about Loki, the man?

Alright, so she'd promised Erik she wouldn't meddle, but – she reasoned – neither one of them honestly expected her not to, which is why she began taking longer walks during the day when Loki wasn't around. Of course, Jane would conveniently leave out that these walks were to the local library, where she'd spend hours scouring through thirty year old newspapers. And what did she have to show for her effort? A wedding announcement to a Sigyn Claremont, an announcement canceling the wedding a few months later, and then his obituary nearly six months after that. Jane had so many questions she wanted to ask, but couldn't. Still, she looked through the papers relentless, and even did an online search at the library. She'd been shocked to learn Sigyn had died a few days before Loki's suicide, some part of her very soul ached for the man – recognizing his own pain in herself. The information raised more questions for Jane, ones she still couldn't ask.

_If he loved her so much as to follow her in death, why call off the wedding in the first place? And why was he still in the cottage instead with Sigyn?_

It made Jane question if she'd been successful, would she actually have joined Thor in the hereafter, or would she have been stuck in their house for all eternity? She shuttered at the thought of being trapped in that place forever, watching who knows who doing whatever they pleased with the place she and Thor had bought to raise their family in.

_Oh, God, what must it be like for him? Was there anything she could do for him?_

"Maybe…"

True to word, Jane had also managed to get a handful of songs drafted for Darcy, though her instrumental composition wasn't going quite as smoothly. She was so particular about her music not being heard until its completion, that Jane tried to have all this done before Loki's appearance at night, but sometimes she was so caught up in her own mind, time slip away from her.

"Can't I hear it," he'd always asked her on these occasions, his eyes shining passionately. "Just a little," he'd press when she denied him, but she'd always shake her head and move about putting her instrument and papers up for the evening. Usually he'd mope about for a bit in a way Jane found adorable – though she'd never admit it aloud. Tonight, however, his eyes flashed towards the kitchen table and his brows drew down curiously. "Two settings?"

Jane looked up at him as she settled her guitar into its case. "Yeah, I told you about Erik stopping by."

"That's tonight?"

Something in his voice didn't sound entirely happy about it. "Yes, why?"

"I suppose my presence is not required this evening then."

"That's up to you, Loki," she replied looking him over carefully. "Though I am spending the night on the couch –"

"Some gentleman," he murmured sarcastically, despite how much more relaxed he seemed. "So I shall visit you after he retires."

Blue-green eyes searched her face as they softened, his lips parting to speak again when a knock sounded at the door. "Jane –"

"I should get that," she said with a smile, heading towards the stairs only to pause at the landing. "You know, I do treasure our time together, Loki." She gave him no time to respond as she rushed down to greet her guest. Erik smiled and hugged her the moment the door was opened. Jane took him to the bedroom and helped him with his suitcase before leading him upstairs. "Dinner is ready, if you're hungry."

"Starved," he grinned, "but then you should know I never turn down a meal."

They laughed and rehashed old times, Erik even talked a bit about Loki and how the cottage use to look. "Bit depressing with all these dead things sitting around collecting dust," he committed, and Jane chuckled, recalling that Loki wasn't exactly found of the stuffed menaces either.

Erik had been proud of her musical accomplishments, saying that at least her solitude had been productive. He'd wipe his hands on his pants nervously a few times before approaching a subject she'd been dreading since Thor's funeral. "Your depression, Jane," he started, his eyes looking towards the floor, while his hands hovered uncertainly before falling into his lap helplessly as they sat on the couch. "I know you miss Thor, but what you did… What you tried to do. .." He sighed and closed his eyes. "You feel guilty, I understand that."

"Do you," she snapped out venomously.

"You're alive and he isn't. It's not your fault he wasn't wearing a seatbelt, Jane, and it's not fair to any of us that love you to have to constantly worry over loosing you. Thor died, Jane, but it's like a part of you crawled in that grave with him."

"Damn, Erik, tell me how you really feel." She'd looked away from him by now, and could feel herself emotionally shutting down. _He understands me_, she mentally scoffed. As if Erik could actually understand her pain, as if anyone did! Not when they didn't know the whole story.

"It's okay to hate him, Jane. It's okay to hate Thor," his voice whispered. "I do, Jane. I hate him for what he's done to you – the whole lot of it! I hate that even now he's hurting you, and there's nothing I can do about it!"

"That's enough," she snapped out. "He's dead, Erik. Thor's dead, and I won't let you tarnish his memory! I love you, but I think I've had enough company for this evening."

"Jane," he started, his voice repentant, but she turned her back to him and bid him 'goodnight'. Sighing, he rose slowly and went off to bed as she'd asked.

Jane busied herself, first with cleaning up after dinner and then with a quick shower before climbing back up the stairs and lying down on the couch. She tried to will herself to sleep, to stop the thoughts she knew would surface, but soon found herself laying there in the dark with silent tears falling on her pillow.

"Jane?"

Her head snapped towards the soft sound. "Loki?" Quickly she wiped her tears away with the back of her hands. "You heard?"

He smiled sadly, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her instead of his usual chair as she sat up on the couch. "If I were… more than I am," he nearly whispered, "I'd be a better comfort. As it is, all I can offer is that I am here if you need me."

"I do," she smiled weakly. "You're a good friend, Loki."

"Better than Erik at least."

"He means well," Jane defended, her eyes drifting towards ground. "He has every right to hate Thor. Some days, I hate him too."

"Jane?" She looked up into his confused blue-green eyes. "But I thought… I mean, isn't that why you wanted to –"

"Yes and no," she sighed out, not really comfortable talking about her suicide attempt. "I was heartbroken. Thor was my family, and then – like my parents – he was gone. And… well, I suppose I didn't handle it very well."

Loki was quiet – too quiet actually. When Jane finally risked a glance in his direction she found him gazing at her curiously. "You're hiding something," he stated plainly. "Not just from me, from everyone."

"You're one to talk about secrets, Loki," she said tiredly. "Regular man of mystery you are," she continues with a sad smile at his confused look.

"Jane-"

"No," she cut him off. "You don't get to demand everything from me and give nothing of yourself."

"I-"

"No," she sighed out in exhaustion, sliding down the couch to lay down again. "Just…let me rest."


End file.
